


Red

by ko_writes



Series: Fandot Creativity Night - 26/09/15 [1]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, Blood, Catharsis, Cutting, Depression, M/M, Positive attitude towards suicide, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 13:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4878463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ko_writes/pseuds/ko_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Towel (Yes, I got this from that)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

   Red. White stained red. Purity soiled with… with…

   So much red…

   A hand on his shoulder, muffled words, nothing discernible except, “Sorry… Loss…”

   He can’t think.

   The mighty Sky God, Douglas Richardson, can’t think.

* * *

 

   A blade running across skin.

   An end to pain. Death is the ending of pain, he’s always believed in that.

   He’s always barked laughter at those who said that one’s choice to die in a specific moment was a ‘sin’. Maybe, if there is a deity, they would be upset to see the work they put into creating a life – even one as flawed and useless as he. It would be a waste of their effort. But, if one is so pained and desperate as to escape this life; why would they be given more pain, more suffering, in the afterlife?

   If there is an afterlife… He almost hopes there isn’t, that he will just fade away into nothing, into rest.

   Blank for eternity. Boring, but pleasantly serene and peaceful.

   He presses harder against his wrist, splitting skin.

   Red runs into the, now cold, bathwater.

   He moves his arm to lay over the side of the bath, the porcelain cool on his skin.

   He’s slipping, slipping away.

   So much red…

   Martin Crieff closes his eyes, and fades away. But as he does, there’s yelling, and the sound of a door breaking down.

   It’s alright, he’ll be resting in a minute. He’s slipping away… his breathing is slowing…

   His breathing, and heartbeat, have stopped.

* * *

 

   Douglas just stared at the bloody towel.

   Procedures were followed in a haze. He wondered if it was the same fog, seeping into his mind in wisps, as Martin had described on his ‘bad’ days.

   His terrible days.

   His crying days.

   His bedridden days.

   Martin was so thin, so fragile, in such a deep despair; he just couldn’t stand to be strong anymore, so he took it into his own hands.

   Douglas sits, staring at the towel. His tears soak the cloth, dyed red with his love’s blood.

   He can’t bring himself to be angry.

   He hugs the towel to his chest, staining his shirt. _At least he can’t hurt anymore…_


End file.
